


If Those Walls Could Talk

by artisticalgorithm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Experimental writing, M/M, a fanfic fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisticalgorithm/pseuds/artisticalgorithm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That second-floor apartment stands empty now, but if those walls could talk, they would tell the story of a teacher, a museum guide, and a chance meeting that changed everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Those Walls Could Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellodenial (skell)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skell/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Redefining Routine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419391) by [skell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skell/pseuds/skell). 



> (It wouldn't let me tag skell as just skell?? Whatever. This works.)
> 
> Yesterday was the anniversary of the first chapter post of Redefining Routine, and I felt like I had to do something for the occasion, since Yanka is such an inspiration to me! So here's a small tribute, written in the universe of Redefining Routine (yes, it's a fanfic fanfic). It won't make as much sense if you haven't read RR, but it should stand okay on its own. This little drabble is a writing style experiment, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway!

A four-story apartment building sits in a neighborhood not far from Shinagawa Station. On the second floor, sunlight filters into an apartment through dusty green curtains, illuminating laminate wood flooring and cream colored walls. That second-floor apartment stands empty now, but if those walls could talk, they would tell the story of a teacher, a museum guide, and a chance meeting that changed everything. 

They would speak of a dark-haired visitor and two roommates who were surprised to discover that the other knew him. They would reminisce about a night of lesson planning and curry, rain and silly photos, and an accidental sleepover that foreshadowed things to come. 

Those walls would talk about the week when the feverish blond boy was left home alone, and how the dark-haired boy stopped by to take care of him. They would speak of the time he spent fussing over the grumpy blond, and how his presence there became almost a given. 

Then, a fight. 

The walls would say how restless the blond became in the wake of his roommate's move and his friend's absence, how he'd open his phone and thumb through the contacts, only to lock it again. How even his books couldn't hold his attention. How the silence suddenly grew lighter once the pair reconciled, and how they spent more and more time together. 

They would laugh as they recalled how the dark-haired boy had struggled to carry his intoxicated companion up the stairs, only to discover that they couldn't get in. And they would smile as they spoke of a midnight birthday call, of a first date that ended in a mad dash through the rain, and commemorative selfies that concluded with a question. 

_“Would you like to move in with me?”_

Suddenly, there were two mugs, two sets of dishes being washed every night. Those walls would say how their nakedness was gradually covered by colorful posters and prints, and how the blond boy always complained, but still looked at them fondly when he thought no one could see. The shelves grew heavy with books and trinkets and figures, and the once-bare apartment started to feel more like a home. 

Those walls would talk about the chores that became less mundane because they were shared, the slow dances that turned into tickle fights, and the laughter and the love that existed whenever the two boys were together. They would speak of lazy days that were spent in the company of books, pillows, and each other. And oh, how those walls would blush when they remembered the sleepless nights filled with sighs and moans and names chanted like prayers. 

They would recount sleepless nights of another kind, full of stress and worry and rooms lit faintly by computer screens. They would speak of quiet dinner conversations, of shared hopes and dreams and fears. Of a new excitement for things to come. And they would speak of a hidden anxiety that grew and grew until it burst. 

_"You're moving out?"_

Those walls would shudder as they remembered a night of rumbling thunder and slamming doors, a sudden downpour and glasses forgotten in an attempt to save the one thing that mattered. They would talk about two drenched boys and the new void between them. The looming goodbye that helped to close that gap. 

They would speak of one last dance that turned to laughter, then to an embrace. One last lazy morning. One last outing. 

One last, desperate night. 

A tearful farewell. 

_"I love you, Tadashi."_

_"I love you, too, Kei."_

Those walls would sigh as they told of the deafening silence that met the dark-haired boy when he returned home. They would recall meals eaten lifelessly and nights no longer filled with sound. The occasional chime of messages that helped fill the void left by the blond. Treasured late-night phone calls about everything and nothing. Less and less time spent there. 

They would say how the contract wasn't renewed. Boxes were filled, posters taken down. 

The walls would speak of a dark-haired boy who looked around the apartment wistfully one more time and then locked the door behind him. 

Of the silence that followed. 

That second-story apartment stands empty now, but if those walls could talk, they would tell the story of two imperfect boys who once lived there, two boys who are learning, little by little, to depend on each other and to never stop dreaming. 

The story of a chance meeting that changed everything.


End file.
